commercial elevator from the sky lobby directly down to Bigelow’s floor, but she didn’t want Jernigan to wonder -he probably suspected too much as it was.
Not that she gave a damn if anybody knew, she thought grimly, but it had taken a long time to get Bigelow past the worry-wart stage and there was no sense in running risks that might expose both herself and him. He isn’t much, honey, she told herself, but at the moment he’s all you’ve got. And he wasn’t all that bad … Getting gray and a little chubby around the middle, but he worked out and was still what the society pages called “ruggedly handsome.” And most important of all, he was generous.
She buzzed for the elevator, hoping it would be empty when it arrived. It was and she thumbed 21, then leaned against the wall of the cage. John Bigelow III, vice-president of Motivational Displays, and someday when his older brother died or retired, he would be the president.
Not a large company, but one of the largest devoted to putting on trade shows for commercial clients. She had first met him when he had hired her through a model agency to staff a client’s booth at a Consumer Electronics show. He had been friendly and attentive and when another show had come up he had asked for her specifically.
The affair had grown from there.
The cage started to slow and Deirdre took a quick glance at her compact mirror. She was thirty-one-her most carefully kept secret-but could pass for a woman in her middle twenties. It was tough to do, she thought grimly, and with every year that went by, it got tougher.
Then the elevator stopped and the door started to open. -He was waiting for her, pulling her inside the front door as soon as she rapped lightly three times on the frosted glass. He swept her into his arms and nuzzled her neck, kissing her casually and then more passionately.
She closed her eyes. He wasn’t bad, she kept thinking to herself; he wasn’t bad at all-maybe he was right out of the late-night movie but she was honest enough to admit that so was she. His only real drawback was a wife to whom he had been married for twenty-five years and two kids, none of whom he loved-or so he said-but that made no difference in the larger equation. His wife had family money and he was never going to divorce her.
So little Deirdre got the emotional leavings, plus the regularly paid rent on a one-bedroom apartment in the Glass House and a generous allowance. And the promise of an introduction-someday-to a friend who was a producer.
I believe in the Easter bunny, too, she thought, then let herself go and returned his kisses with just the right amount of enthusiasm.
“You’ve been away a long time, lion. I’ve missed you,” she said.
“Business,” he said briefly and she instinctively doubted him. He cupped one of her breasts and she let him paw her for a moment, then gently pushed him away. He took her hand. “Let’s go on back,” he urged, whispering. “I’ve got some surprises.”
She shrugged out of her fox wrap, draping it over an arm, then followed him through the storage area just beyond the small outer office. It was a large, almost cavernous room stocked with polystyrene displays that usually reflected the season of the year. Tonight the room was filled with phalanxes of plastic Santa Clauses and fleets of reindeer and small armies of elves and gnomes.
She couldn’t help giggling. It was the season of the year that she loved best and the displays made her feel young, almost childish. If there was a storeroom for Disneyland she thought, this had to be it.
Then they were in the dark of the executive suite with Bigelow closing the door behind him and fumbling for the light switch. He found it, but the fluorescents built into the wall didn’t come on-instead a small Christmas tree set on the coffee table in front of the sofa bed flared into brilliance. Deirdre gasped, then said, “Wait a minute,” and found -the pull for the draperies behind the couch. A moment later she had drawn all the draperies so the lights from the tree blended in with the spectacular view of the city visible through the picture windows set in the outside walls of the room.
It was beautiful, she thought, really beautiful, and for the first time in years she almost felt like crying. Then Bigelow had snapped on the fluorescents, dimming the small lights of the tree and blanking the scene outside.
“I thought you’d like it,” he said proudly. And then, “There’s more.
Look under the tree.” He hesitated. “Or do you want a drink first?”
“In a minute,” she giggled, “but not this very moment.”
There were several packages beneath the tree and an envelope. She opened the small, flat package first. A string of cultured pearls.
Not the most expensive-but expensive enough. The other package contained a small, gold-banded wrist watch. Again, not the most expensive, though hardly cheap. The envelope contained a check for
$638.90.
She caught her breath. The odd figure struck her as funny-probably something to do with taxes, which Would be typical of the practical-minded Bigelow-and she laughed, then stood up and ran to Bigelow, who was leaning against the side of the small, built-in bar.
She threw her arms around him, then found his tongue. She could tell he was already a good three drinks down but it didn’t matter.
“There’s still more,” he said quietly.
Deirdre froze. There couldn’t be more, she thought wildly. He wasn’t going to divorce his wife, she knew him better than that.
“Julien will be in town next week,” Bigelow continued.
“I’ve told him about you. He’s holding auditions for a Simon play and he thinks you might fit one of the parts, one of the smaller ones.”
She stared at him and something in his eyes gave him away. He knew the instant she read it and abruptly drained his glass of scotch and poured himself another. There was only a trace of slur in his voice when he added quietly, “After that, Deedee, well, it’s been fun but we both knew it had to end.”
She stood stock still for a long moment. The odd figure on the check-two months’ rent in advance. And a couple of presents to salve his conscience. Merry Christmas to Deirdre Elmon, who would be Deedee Carsons again the moment she went back to the model agency. She stalked back to the couch and took the pearls and the watch, and dropped them into the small wastebasket nearby, already filled with, the gift wrappings.
“You’re a real bastard,” she said softly.
He came around so he was framed against the window.
“Am I? I never promised you a thing, Deedee. You start something like this, you don’t exactly sign a contract.
What did you think I was going to do? Divorce my wife?
Disinherit my kids?”
“You don’t love them,” she said sullenly.
“I fell out of love with my wife after the first year,” he admitted thickly. “With you, well, I never did give you a hearts-and-flowers routine.”
“Somebody else?” she asked, knowing the answer.
“Might be,” he said. “I can’t help having an eye for a good-looking chick.”
She showed her contempt. “You sound like a dirty,old man.” That made him angry.
“Why not? I can afford to be,” he snapped.
She picked up the wastebasket and threw it at him.
Then she”ran for the door. He caught her, twisting her arm up behind her back but not enough to really hurt.
His breath was heavy with the scotch. “You always do the dropping, don’t you, Dee? Or at least you used to-you’re getting a little too old for that now. I could have liked you more, Dee, but you never gave value for value received. For a mistress, you always withheld desire on your part. I was always the one who had to want you. A woman can be either a good whore or a good mistress, Dee, but you didn’t bother trying to be either one.” His face was brutal with contempt.
He let her go then and she sagged back on The couch.
He wiped the damp hair away from his eyes and unconsciously brushed each shoe tip against the back of the opposite pant leg; a nervous reaction with him. Deirdre was trying hard not to sob; she had never fully realized the
